Cold
by tokeahontas
Summary: What happened on the day before Tris was assaulted by Peter, Drew, and Al? And how was Al brought over to the dark side?


I sit in the dorm, tracing the other initiates' names onto my pillow, in alphabetical order. I stop at 'Tris'. Pain sears through my head, bouncing from ear to brain to ear.

Then Peter comes in. I stare at him. He's much more attractive than I am, hands-down. Girls would probably love him if he wasn't such a jerk.

He starts to change his shirt. I notice a tattoo on his lower back. It says something in a different language, in a different alphabet.

"What's that?"

"What the hell are you staring at?"

I redden, palpably. "Sorry."

"It's fine, I, too, often find myself staring at the backsides of other men. It's Russian. It means 'cold'."

"Cold?"

"Cold. Freezing. Chilly. Icy."

"Why 'cold', though?"

A smile creeps onto his face. His teeth are white, his eyes bright green. His pale skin contrasts with his dark hair.

"We're in the fiery faction. Might as well stand out the best I can."

He moves over to the table beside his bunk.

"It's not like anyone but you can read Russian anyways, Peter."

"That's the thing. The differences are hidden unless you take a closer look."

"Well… that's nice."

He laughs. Smiles, turning away from me. He places a hand over his stomach, and for a second I think he might try what he used to do to kids on the playground all the time, might somehow frame me for hurting him. But he just laughs, hard this time, with real mirth.

He falls back onto the bed, cackling. He points at me, shrieking with laughter, and I'm filled with embarrassment. Why is he doing this? What are his motives?

He lunges at me, grabs me by the hair, and then it's just pain. He repeatedly slams my head into the wall. He slaps me upside the head, brings me to the floor, and drags me to the other side of the room.

Helplessly and throbbing with pain, I bring my hand up and block his next kick. I crawl backwards, terrified. I realize how unstable this guy is, how dangerous.

He staggers backwards, cackling or screaming, I'm not sure which. I bring my fingers to my head. They come back red.

I regain my balance, still pulsing with pain.

Struggling to breathe, I mutter, "What the hell was that for?"

He runs at me again, pinning me to the floor, and scrapes my face with his nails, which are surprisingly sharp for a boy in Dauntless.

I swat his hands away.

"I know how you feel about…" He breathes deeply, his eye twitching a little. "_Her_."

"Who?"

He smiles, and I can see the lack of sanity in his eyes. "The Stiff." He stares beyond me, like he's won some huge victory. I'm filled with dread.

He delicately places a hand over my mouth. His face looks so innocent, however horrible he is behind it.

The other hand strokes my face. He's going to kill me. He's going to hurt me.

"I could kill you like this, Al," he muses. His knees are crushing my arms, slowly cutting off their circulation.

I whimper.

His menacing look fades, into a more innocent one that I just know is fake. "But I won't. Because you and I both know how it's like to be hurt by her. By that Stiff."

"How did you…?"

"The walls have eyes, Albert. And so do I." He slaps me across the face. It stings. I know I'm not bleeding, but it still feels as though I am.

"You're insane."

"And you're slow to the point. And an idiot. And weak. And ugly, and you'll never, ever be with her. As much as you want it."

He spits on me. His mouth curls into a smile.

"Stop it, Peter."

"Stop it, Peter," he repeats. "Very good. You know when you're in pain, and when you want it to end."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because, Albert," he says, "I have a deal to make."

"Which is…?"

"You and I both wanted something from the Stiff. For me, my rank. For you, some hopeless satisfaction in the form of a romantic, or — God forbid — sexual relationship. How are we going to get those things? Well, I'm a coward, just like you, Al. I'm afraid to kill her, afraid of being punished for doing so. And short of killing her, there's only one thing we can do to tell her who she can and can't screw with."

"Peter…"

"I propose that tonight, at precisely 1:15 AM sharp, we, with 'we' being Peter, Drew, and Al, sneak out, locate Tris, and trap her in a bag of some sort. We shall carry her out to the chasm, dangle her over it, or, perhaps, throw her into it. Depends on what I feel like."

"Peter!"

He presses his cold hand back onto my mouth.

I shake my head. No way.

"But Al…" he says tenderly. "Think of what she did to you. Not even a chance she gave you, she just flicked you away, like you were nothing. I don't like feeling like I'm nothing. Do you?"

"No."

"Everything between you two will forever be just awkward, meaningless. Unless you take part in our little… adventure."

"I'm…"

He raises his eyebrows. It's an evil thing to agree to, but I can't help but feeling like she deserves it. "She won't die, right?"

He considers it. "No. No, of course not. That's prohibited, and I wouldn't dare do that with you in tow. Just a fair warning to her."

"I'm… 1:15, right?"

"Yes." He finally lifts his knees from my arms. He cracks his knuckles, sighs, and sits back down on the floor, propped up by his arms. He stares up at the ceiling, smiling. Probably fantasizing about rape or murder or eating babies or something of the sort.

He gets up, pats me on the head, and heads for the door. Then, at the very last moment, Peter turns and faces me. "Oh, and Al?"

"Yes?" I ask, cranking my arm around to regain the feeling in it.

His voice lowers. "If you ever tell anyone about this little meeting, or, I would hope with the grace of the Lord above, not show up tonight at 1:15, this entire faction will not only be swarming with the knowledge of your death, but also that you were madly in love with the Stiff, and that she was the one that rejected you."

I'm filled with dread. Just his presence makes me uncomfortable.

"Are we clear?" he asks.

"Yes."

"That's good."


End file.
